


Digambara

by Melo_Mapo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Sailing, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Boston, Cape Cod, Female Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Sailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3612639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melo_Mapo/pseuds/Melo_Mapo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Derek sees her, she's yelling at him from her tiny trimaran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Digambara

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I'm not a native English speaker so don't hesitate to leave comments if you find things that don't sound quite right. 
> 
> I'm also just always glad to read comments ;)

The first time Derek sees her, she's yelling at him from her tiny trimaran. She's still on sail despite both boats being far enough into the anchor bay that there is almost no more wind. There's a curly-haired man with her, and they maneuver so that their boat nears the Mariposa: the trimaran is lighter and has just enough momentum to do so.

\- What is she saying? asks Boyd from the helm.

\- Something about her motor being dead, I think, answers Erica.

\- Maybe she wants us to pull her the rest of the way into the bay? adds Isaac.

And sure enough she throws them a generous length of rope that Erica manages to catch.

\- Derek, tack it to our back while I hold it!

 

The Mariposa moves as far in the bay as the depths allows it before anchoring. The crew then reigns the smaller boat in so they can have a chat a tad more civil.

\- Thanks guys! Our motor broke down.

The woman is brown-haired, with whiskey-colored eyes and a pale skin reddened by the sun and bearing constellations of moles anywhere her skin is apparent.

\- I'm Stiles by the way, she adds and Derek can't help but blurt:

\- What's a Stiles?

The girl just laughs:

\- Well me, apparently, and this is Scott.

She points to the boy with her, who smiles, puppy-like adorable. He's a werewolf, beta, from what Derek can smell. He doesn't submit but does is best to look humble, so Derek shrugs it off. It's vacation time for everybody.

\- I'm Derek, alpha of this pack, he answers, and everybody gets introduced.

The pack is enjoying a two-weeks break before the start of the summer semester to go sailing in Cape Cod. Stiles and Scott turn out to be living in Boston too. They rented the Corsair F24 to enjoy some vacation time too.

\- So how are you going to anchor your boat for the night? I don’t think staying coupled is a good idea, finally says Derek.

\- Don’t worry.

She jumps back on her own boat, ties two mooring lines together and shouts:

\- Scott, hop back on Digambara!

Scott does as he's told while Erica untie the trimaran. Stiles ties one end of the line to the bow and the other to her waist and dives. Fully dressed. Derek looks at her swim, a bit flabbergasted. What the heck is she doing? A few purposeful breaststrokes later, she is setting foot on the beach. Her heels well pitched in the sand, she starts pulling, slowly but surely. It’s a very light boat but still! She obviously struggles to keep her feet from sliding.

\- Come on guys, someone go help her! says Erica.

Scott is stuck getting their boat prepped for beaching, so Derek doesn’t think too much about it and start undressing. He doesn’t have time to change into swim trunks and hopes she is used enough to hanging out with werewolf and their lack of modesty that she won’t find his tight boxers too indecent. He joins her, tries not to stare at how her wet clothes sticks to her body, fails, and finally helps her pull the boat. When the central hull starts weighing down in the sand, she runs to the nearest big tree and ties the line to it, her trimaran a strange three-legged dog.

\- Thanks for your help… Derek, right?

He nods, noting how her gaze lingers just a bit on on his body. When he breathes in, the scent of arousal is there, even with the strong smells of the sea covering much of it.

\- Nice boxers, btw, she says with a quirk in her eyebrows that confuses him (is she joking or really enjoying the view? Or both?)

Before he can answer anything she’s gone again to take the anchor from Scott, manually carrying it and sticking it in the sand. Derek goes back to the Mariposa and spends the rest of the evening glancing her way while going about his own business.

 

***

 

            They meet again at nighttime, in a very natural fashion. The Mariposa crew is barbecuing the fish they caught earlier in the day on the beach and Scott invites them to share two six-packs of Blue Moon as a thank you for their help. Stiles and Scott are both easy-going and soon enough they all are having dinner together. Erica and Stiles are bantering about comic-books, Isaac is asking Scott about being a veterinarian  _and_ a werewolf. More bottles are opened, more stories told about stubborn motors and dead waters. Before the night is through, they agree on sailing together for a few days. “We're headed the same way,” says Stiles, and her heartbeat stutters while Scott scrunches his nose, shutting up only because Stiles elbows him. And yeah, it’s a lie, but Derek won’t ask about it, like he avoids thinking about the eyerolls Erica sends his way all night long.

 

***

 

            When the sun rises in a clear blue sky, on the third day of sailing with the Mariposa, Stiles is the first one to get up. It’s 7am and she is still a bit drunk from the cocktails she got everyone into drinking the night before. They had wolfsbane to spike the werewolves' drinks, and she had drank a fair share of plain alcohol herself. She feels the hangover looming, and she decides to drink a lot of water and go for a swim. She does it naked, just because she can: they are anchored in a little fold of the cost of an uninhabited island and her friends - they are friends now! - are still sound asleep. Scott's been packless since he got bitten, staying a beta thanks to having Stiles and his mom, but Stiles knows it's not the same, knows he's longing for what Derek's pack could offer him. The others usually get up between 9 and 10, which leaves her plenty of time to float around lazily. She let her mind wanders as her body does, remembering the day before.

            Boyd had repaired her motor, she had made fish carpaccio with Erica and Isaac, and discovered that Derek was ticklish. Derek… Derek was someone she didn’t know what to think of. The more she learned about him, the more she liked him. She had been crushing on him since day one, what with the stubble, the dark-and-tortured attitude and the stunning body, but she was now feeling this first attraction get more serious, pulling at things in herself that left her wondering. The best part of it all was that he flirted back at her, in his strange, endearing way. Considering the situation however it had led to nothing. Intimacy when people (moreover werewolves) were around was difficult. They had had a tickle fight of epic proportions the evening before, on the beach. Boyd was working on the motor with Scott, Isaac and Erica were alternatively napping and reading in the shade, not far. Stiles was less ticklish than Derek but he had tenfold her physical strength and the fight, knees in the sand and hands grabbing and tickling, had lasted a furious 20 minutes, until sand got in some uncomfortable places and they agreed to stop. A few times they had paused for fleeting seconds, for one of these suspended moments full of possibilities where hands could have switched to caresses. To her utter disappointment, nothing had happened. Thinking back to the past days, Stiles fears that the enchanted vacation will end up just a parenthesis, closed upon returning to Boston.

The noise of someone opening up the Mariposa launches her out of her thoughts. _Of course_ it is Derek who appears, in his underwear. He looks still half asleep and heads for the water with the determination of someone who needs to pee. He is already pulling himself out of his boxers when he notices her and they both freeze, him with his penis in hand and her starfished naked in the clear water. Then panic crashes upon Stiles and she feels herself redden and sinking as she struggles to stay afloat while hiding her crotch and breasts. In the end, she opts for not drowning and start swimming, even if it means showing everything to a startled Derek. She knows werewolf are far from shy, but she hasn't been brought up like that, and, hot damn, isn't Derek beautiful in the morning, hair ruffled and eyes soft. 

\- Take your time, I will… euuh… go swim there, she says before heading for the beach in an uneven breaststroke.

It’s only when she reaches it that she realizes she should have gone back to her boat, where her _clothes_ are. Mortified, she turns around and gets ready for another round of awkwardness when she sees Derek riping off his boxers and, as naked as one can be, letting himself slip in the water. She hears him swear under his breath: the water is still quite fresh for the season, and werewolf high body temperature means a bigger contrast. They end up swimming toward each other and he tells her:

\- So… skinny diving?

She tries to look him in the eyes only as she answers:

\- I got into the habit sailing with Scott. It seems like being a werewolf changed his opinions on exhibitionism. 

\- And you went along? 

She tries to shrug while swimming and ends up flailing to keep afloat.

\- It's no fun doing crazy things alone. Also, he's been like a brother to me since kindergarten so we'd seen each other naked plenty other times.

They swim aimlessly for a while, enjoying the heat of the morning sun and the cool water before Derek adds, like he's talking to himself :

\- It is a peculiar sensation, to have everything… hang…

She can’t help but to glance down at his soft sex freely floating. When she looks back up he is staring at her and it is so embarrassing they both burst into laughter. Derek's laugh is unexpected, a bright thing his constant glare hid the possibility of. They laugh so hard they have to get to the nearest boat for support, as swimming and laughing are not extremely compatible. It is the trimaran and when the giggles recede she invites him for breakfast. Derek accepts and there is another awkward moment when he is left looking at her ass as she climbs the small ladder to her boat. As he follows her out of the water, he can smell her for the first time, pine and citrus and arousal, previously masked by the water. He is glad that she is handing him a towel while pointedly looking elsewhere when he climbs up himself, so that she doesn’t notice the interest that got into a certain organ of his. 

            Derek wraps himself in the towel and sits in the sun. He looks at Stiles put the kettle to boil, her towel tucked like a saran, and the strange feeling that they could have this be a regular morning stirs something in his gut, something he hadn’t feel in a while and tries not to put words on yet. The pack is safe, asleep nearby, and there's something about Stiles's soft smile, about Scott's earnest happiness, that makes him think they'd be perfect addition to it. Stiles could be his chance at redemption, at a normal relationship. He doesn’t dare to hope, not when they could just part and go their separate ways in a few days.

Soon they are sitting in front of each other and Stiles is glad to have a mug to keep her hands busy because the water droplets on Derek's shoulders and torso are glistening in the morning light, making her fingers itch. She wants to reach and just _touch_ , she realizes as she sips on her tea, she wants to discover how his skin feels under hers, what kind of caresses makes him moan, where his limit lies between pleasure and tickles. The worst - or the best, she doesn’t know yet - is that he not only has a face and body that make her insides lit up with desire, he also has a quiet humor under his tough exterior, a tenderness under his snark. There's something about the way he moves and acts around his pact, thoughtful, unobtrusive yet present, that shows how good of an alpha he is, but also how good of a person, and that makes her chest go tight with another kind of want. _I'm screwed_ , she realizes as they chat easily around a bowl of cereals, _and I'm not sure it's in the good way_. If Derek can smell her strange mood on her, he doesn't say a word. 

 

***

 

            And there he goes, living up to every straight girl's dream, and he’s not even trying. They are moored for the night in a tiny harbor and after dinner at the restaurant - nobody felt like cooking - they came back to the Mariposa for a last drink that transformed into a few more, and a few others and now Derek is playing the guitar, and it’s totally an item on her “perfect boyfriend” list because she started making it in highschool, ok? Why is she justifying herself in her own head anyway? She blames it on the alcohol and the slight despair bubbling in her chest at the idea that in two days this perfect guy will slip out of her grasp. But for now, she will try to be all Carpe Diem about it, because he plays beautifully.

            The air is the perfect kind of cool, the clear sky is starting to shine with hundreds of stars and the notes roll easily off the strings, neatly hung in the space between them, crisp and wonderful as they resonate with the buzz of alcohol running through her body. Erica and Boyd are falling asleep cuddled together in a blanket on a seat at the stern, Isaac and Scott have gone inside to play cards and the sound of their conversation and laughter is muffled. Stiles feels both comfortably surrounded by pack and like they are alone in the world, Derek, the guitar and her, sitting together at the bow. The song comes to an end and she thinks it’s time for her to break the enchantment and go back to her boat, but the wolf looks up and he smiles. It is a tiny, intimate smile, a crinkle at the corners of his eyes really, and it makes her heart falter, and before she can double guess herself, she is leaning forward and pressing her lips to his.

One second goes by, and nothing happens.

Then he’s drawing back, and her heart misses a beat. She is bracing herself for an excuse and an escape when she realizes he's merely putting the guitar aside and is reaching for her. The second kiss is sloppy, Stiles is not quite ready and smiles through it, but Derek doesn’t seem to care. She takes his hand and they slip off the Mariposa and aboard the trimaran. They settle in the galley, kissing, hands roaming on top of their light summer clothing, and she feels light-headed but she doesn’t know for sure if it’s the alcohol or his touch. When hands start getting under fabric, Stiles steps aside for a minute, closing the boat and taking the time to velcro the tiny curtains to their portholes. There isn't much privacy to have with werewolf around, but she likes to maintain the illusion of it. The space is small enough that Derek keeps touching her all the while, taking her clothes off. She is down to her panty when the last curtain is velcroed, and she whispers “unfair” in his ear before getting him down to his boxers too. They pause then, excitation humming right under their skin, briefly hesitant before desire takes over. Finally their bodies come flush together as they stand, hands caressing every bit of available skin, mouths kissing, moaning, nipping, sucking. Their hips are grinding, the pressure delicious but not enough, tantalizing in the promise it holds. With a content sigh, Stiles slips her hands underneath the waistband of Derek’s boxers, and they join the rest of their clothes on the floor, quickly followed by her panty. A needy sound escapes him as he feels how wet she is already. He fingers her, wants to take his time despite the cramped space and the built-up want but he feels so excited, almost painfully so, that he doesn’t know how long he can really make it last. It's been too long, and she smells too good, feel fantastic too. When Stiles lightly pushes him he complies, sitting down on the berth. She sits on top of him, straddling him as she starts moving, rubbing her wet lips on his hard length. He tries to find her clitoris and she guides his hand until it grazes on his thumb at every roll of her hips. She holds on to the back of the berth for balance and he steadies her with his other hand on the small of her back. He mouths at her neck, nibbling at it without daring to leave marks but she chuckles, offers him the long length of it and gives him free reign as long as he doesn't bite to transform. This get to Derek the most, how she trusts him with that, and he sucks a bruise right between two moles, his chest rumbling. Their rhythm gets frantic quickly, his own hips slamming up as they get lost in the last of their lust, half words of pleasure escaping them in between messy kisses and he comes all over his stomach. She keep fucking herself on his hand and he feels her whole body tense as she stops moving, but he rubs her through her orgasm until she stops trembling with the intensity of it, her loud and unreserved moans transforming into heavy breathing. For a while she rests her head on his shoulder and, slowly, deliberately, he turns his head, offers his own neck. The sheer joy in her scent makes him dizzy as she moves her mouth to the tendons there, sucking a mark of her own that may heal soon but whose symbol won't disappear. 

 

They look at each other, then, and they know it is a beginning rather than an end.

 

 


End file.
